


Migraine

by SolarMorrigan



Series: Duck Hugs [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Present Tense, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, just so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 03:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17215760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: Gyro knows that voice, heknowshe does, but he’s floating so far away from his mind right now that not much registers properly. It’s like when you’re half-asleep and not really aware of your body but somehow addled with pain and nausea at the same time.So, a migraine.





	Migraine

**Author's Note:**

> Irredeemable fluff. Got the idea of Fenton helping Gyro out when he works himself into a migraine and then this happened, which just kind of presumes some time and character development has passed and Fenton and Gyro are in a reasonably healthy relationship, I guess?
> 
> Did I mention this was mostly just fluff, though?

There are fingers in his hair.

Something about that doesn’t seem quite right, but his head _hurts_ , and the fingers are zeroing in on the parts that hurt the most and massaging gently and – oh, actually, it does help a little. Gyro makes a sound in the back of his throat that’s meant to be an approving hum but gets stuck because making noise is too painful.

“You have to stop doing this to yourself,” a voice says from somewhere above Gyro, and he knows that voice, he _knows_ he does, but he’s floating so far away from his mind right now that not much registers properly. It’s like when you’re half-asleep and not really aware of your body but somehow addled with pain and nausea at the same time.

So, a migraine.

There’s something cool and damp on the back of Gyro’s neck now (towel, his mind distantly volunteers) and that helps, too.

Being horizontal would be the _most_ helpful thing, but lying down on his desk was really the best he could manage.

The fingers massage for a moment longer and then go away. Gyro wants them to come back, but has absolutely no way of communicating this. Something makes a little clunk noise next to his head, and Gyro cracks his eyes open to see what.

The lights are still mercifully dim, and there’s something sort of rectangular but sort of round sitting in front of his face. Gyro squints, and can make out the fuzzy words “WORLD’S MADDEST SCIENTIST”.

That would be his mug (he doesn’t use this one much, because it’s ridiculous, but he keeps it because it was a gift from– oh, wait.)

“It’s tea,” the voice above Gyro says, and then it all clicks together.

Fenton is there.

“It’ll help your stomach, so you can take more pills,” Fenton is saying, his voice so much softer than usual.

Gyro likes the idea of more pain medication. He does not at all care for the idea of actually consuming anything. Telling Fenton as much would require an awful lot of words, however, so Gyro settles for a vague “Nope.”

“Come on, just little sips,” Fenton insists. “I swear it will help.”

Gyro isn’t quite sure he believes Fenton. Certainly, Fenton’s never tried to hurt him before (just the opposite, actually; every time a migraine hits, Fenton will be there with little scalp massages and cool cloths and pills and will even let Gyro use him as a giant, maneuverable body pillow because he’s more comfortable than just the bed), but Fenton’s definitely been wrong about things before. Gyro isn’t sure he wants to take the chance.

It doesn’t seem like he has much of a choice, though, because Fenton’s already got gentle hands on Gyro’s shoulders, pulling him slowly, slowly into a sitting position. Gyro thinks his head may split open. He groans.

“Ah, c’mon, Gyro, you’re tougher than this dumb migraine. You got this,” Fenton says, still soft.

The mug gets pressed into Gyro’s hands, and Gyro is forced to open his eyes or risk spilling tea everywhere. He’s not sure if scalding himself would distract from his headache or just make things worse, but he’s not willing to find out.

Fenton, when Gyro manages to focus on him, is kneeling beside his desk chair, smiling in that hopeful, encouraging way that makes Gyro feel bad for saying ‘no’ to anything (it never used to be that way, but Gyro can’t say he entirely regrets the change). Gyro sighs and lifts the mug; it doesn’t smell particularly offensive, so Gyro chances a sip.

The temperature is just right (Gyro has no idea how Fenton does that; for all he’s a disaster in most things, he manages an absolute perfect cup of coffee or tea every time. Honestly, it was the main reason Gyro had kept him around at first). His stomach doesn’t seem inclined to immediately evacuate the tea, so he takes another sip.

“See? Not that bad,” Fenton says, and Gyro glares at him over the rim of the mug (or tries to; his glare probably isn’t quite up to scratch because _everything fucking hurts_ , but he’s pretty sure Fenton gets the message anyway).

Slowly, Gyro makes it through half the cup, and when his stomach has stopped churning, Fenton offers him two tabs of ibuprofen, which Gyro takes gladly.

“Want to lie down?” Fenton asks him as he takes the mug and stows it somewhere on Gyro’s desk where they’ll both probably forget about it.

God, yes, Gyro wants to lie down. Right now, lying down sounds like everything he wants in the world, but navigating his way to a suitable surface on which to do so feels like too immense a task. Fenton knows this, though. Fenton is good like that. Gyro knows that when Fenton gently pries him out of his desk chair and begins leading him across the lab, it will be to somewhere more comfortable than the surface of his desk.

In fact, Fenton leads him over to the chaise lounge that’s been sitting in the lab since forever (Gyro honestly has no idea when it got there or where it came from, but no one really questions its existence anymore). It’s not the most comfortable of places, but it is just about the only soft surface in the lab, so Gyro will take it.

Before Fenton can step aside and let Gyro lie down, however, Gyro takes his hand from Fenton’s and gives him a little shove in the direction of the chaise.

“What?” Fenton asks, looking from Gyro to the lounge and back again.

Gyro begins to roll his eyes, but stops when it sparks another thundering roll of pain. He gives Fenton another blind push, hopefully in the right direction.

Fenton continues to stand for a moment, confused, until he catches on to what Gyro is getting at. “It’s not really built for two people…” he murmurs uncertainly, even as he’s sitting himself down.

Gyro ignores the halfhearted protest, and when Fenton’s situated himself more or less on half the chaise (well, he’s taking up more two thirds than half, but it’s not like Gyro takes up a lot of room, anyway), Gyro sits and essentially jams himself into what free space there is.

They end up with their legs hopelessly tangled, one of Gyro’s arms slung around Fenton’s waist and his aching head resting on Fenton’s chest. This is somehow much more comfortable than just lying on the lounge by himself, Gyro decides.

Then, Fenton, god bless him, brings up the arm that Gyro isn’t lying on and scritches his fingers back into Gyro’s hair, massaging soft circles into his scalp and encouraging the bunched muscles there to relax.

Were Gyro more lucid (and less obstinate), he would think about how glad he is that Fenton is there. That Fenton is every bit as stubborn as he is and sometimes even more determined, and that he had pushed past Gyro’s bullshit and become his friend and then become more than that. He would think about how grateful he is that Fenton is his to bounce ideas off of and to make going places and dealing with other people more bearable and to lie on when he has a migraine.

Since he’s still floating somewhere between his migraine and the possibly excessive amount of ibuprofen he’s taken, however, Gyro just mumbles something into Fenton’s shirt that more or less comes out as “Your hands are good.”

Fenton laughs, just a few little chuckles that feel strange vibrating through his chest and against Gyro’s head, but he keeps massaging, so Gyro doesn’t complain. He knows Fenton will lie there as long as it takes Gyro to fall asleep, and will still be there when he wakes, and maybe Gyro will say thank you then.

Maybe he’ll just add something frivolous and over the top to the Gizmosuit.

Fenton will probably get it, Gyro decides, beginning to slip into sleep.

Fenton’s good like that.

**Author's Note:**

> [Also on Tumblr](http://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/181529447768/migraine-ducktales-2017-established-fenro-did)


End file.
